


Ten Times Jack Waited for the Doctor, and One Time He Didn't

by Lusa



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:53:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusa/pseuds/Lusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows he's risking trouble with all these brief encounters but some days they're the only thing keeping him going. It's been a century now of dying and reviving and watching people he cares about stay dead, of never changing and having nowhere else to go and no goals beyond a vague, distant dream that one day it is going to be the right Doctor, one who will look right at him and know him instantly, who is going to fix him and make all this waiting worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Times Jack Waited for the Doctor, and One Time He Didn't

One  
   
It's been two months since the disaster that had been the end of his relationship with Angelo and Jack is nowhere near over it. He had returned to Cardiff and thrown himself back into his work with such grim efficiency that he knows it scares the rest of the team and he does not care. They all know something bad had happened, but not a single one of them has had the courage to ask about it and he hates them for that. He is still so raw and hurt by Angelo's betrayal its easy to blame the entire world for every tiny mistake right now. He does not remember the last time he smiled.  
   
Summer is dragging to a close and the streets of Cardiff feel like they're slowly being suffocated by the building lining them. No one seems to want to be outdoors, even now as evening sets in, not even weevils so his patrol is uneventful. He's almost back to the Hub when he catches sight of two figures and stops in his tracks, frozen with a recognition he can't process. And then, abruptly, he _knows_ , recognizes the old man with the long white hair and the elegant, old fashioned jacket from a picture glimpsed out of the corner of his eye in the TARDIS's library over forty years ago, the image so abruptly clear in his mind he almost doubles over in shock.  
   
 The Doctor doesn't notice, too lost in conversation with the dark haired young woman who has her arm linked through his and who laughs fondly as he gestures at something with his cane. Jack is sure he has seen her picture somewhere, too. For a moment he is paralyzed by indecision, the only clear thought in his head that he can't give himself away, that the Doctor won't meet him for a long time and how dangerous it is to meddle with timelines like this. But he can't resist any more than a man dying of thirst can turn down a glass of water and suddenly he realizes he has started walking towards them, drawn to him like his life depends on it. His hands are shaking, and he shoves them quickly in his pocket.  
   
"Excuse me," He says, knowing the smile he flashes is less convincingly charming than usual. They both turn to look at him, polite but distracted, which is probably for the best. "Do you know how to get to the bay from here?" He knows perfectly well, but its the excuse he desperately needs to meet those eyes that somehow look so young no matter how many wrinkles frame them.  
   
"Do I look like a map to you, young man?" The Doctor demands, sounding so old and grumpy and curmudgeonly its all Jack can do to keep a straight face. "Come along, Susan."  
   
He laughs the entire way back to the Hub, until his face hurts and tears are streaming down his cheeks. He can't remember the last time anything made him so happy.  
   
   
Two  
   
Its 1952 and he's still constantly surprised by how slowly things change at Torchwood. Its almost impossible to believe that a place that hunts down aliens can have a routine, but it does. He feels like he's stuck in a rut, watching the years drag along with such impossible slowness it doesn't even feel like waiting anymore.  
  
He's sitting outside a cafe in the early spring sunlight, watching life swirl around him without really seeing it. Someday, a long time from now a younger version of himself will sit in a restaurant not far from here and laugh over stories with Rose and Mickey and the Doctor. He does everything he can to try and remember that, terrified of those memories fading away as the decades roll on.  
   
He has been so lost in thought that he realizes there has been music playing for some time now and he glances around until he spots the source; a small man with ridiculous plaid trousers leaning against the side of a bright blue police box on the street corner and playing a cheerful collection of notes on a recorder.  
   
The urge to leap to his feet and run towards the TARDIS is almost physically painful but he fights it down, surprised the mug of coffee he is holding hasn't shattered in his grip. He looses track of time as he sits and listens to the music, but eventually the Doctor must receive some sort of silent signal that the TARDIS is done refueling from the Rift because he finishes with a flourish and bounds back inside it. The roar of the engines is achingly familiar but Jack seems to be the only one who notices as it vanishes from sight.  
 

Three

He thinks Torchwood 3 only assigns him to go to meetings with UNIT because they think its funny to watch him butt heads with every single person there. He has gotten out of it for the past couple of years since it would not do to have them notice the the way he does not age, but apparently 1974 is not going to be his lucky year and he has spent most of the morning arguing about things like budgets and paperwork which he did not actually care about to begin with. He's not exactly popular here.

He feels like cheering when they finally manage to hash out something almost resembling a compromise and he has to resist the urge to sprint out of the room and get back to Cardiff, but he's supposed to be on his best behavior so he follows his guide through the neat hallways towards the exit. As they approach one room in their scientific wing he can hear what sounds like an argument and as he gets closer he is able to make out, "…know what I'm doing, thank you very much.

"It looks entirely ridiculous when you hold it like that," There is only one person Jack has ever met who can sound that politely condescending about alien technology but just as his face begins to light up with delight he hears, "And in any case, its about to-" followed by the bang of an accidental alien weapons discharge and a huge billow of disgusting smelling purple smoke that flows out into the hallway, obscuring any chance he had of getting a look at the Doctor. As he tugs his coat up to cover his face, coughing and heading for the door he can hear, "I did warn you, Brigadier."

 

Four

He has been counting down the days until the next annual meeting with UNIT, had volunteered to go so quickly he knew it made everyone suspicious and does not care. He leaves behind his coat this time - it was too distinctive, too memorable, especially for someone like a Time Lord - and does his best to blend in. He fidgets all the way through the meeting, worried his luck won't hold out for another year but it does. On the way out they round a corner and almost crash into what Jack originally assumes is a giant walking scarf before he takes a step back and gets a good look at this latest regeneration.

"Ah, Captain, I don't believe you've met the Doctor," His guide begins, but the Doctor cuts him off without even looking at Jack, all wild, distracted energy like he can't bear to sit still for even a moment.

"No time for that now. Hurry up, Sarah, unless you'd prefer we stand around and make small talk while the world is destroyed." He calls to the pretty brunette who gamely keeps up with him as he sprints off down the hall to deal with whatever the current crisis is. Jack exchanges a grin and a shrug with his guide, but glances over his shoulder as they start walking again long enough to watch the final few feet of scarf disappear around the corner.

 

Five

He spends eight lonely years looking for scarves and police boxes. The closer he gets to the 21st century the harder the waiting gets. No matter how many days Torchwood saves the world or how many nights he spends up hunting aliens each seems longer than the last, as if time itself is dragging it's heels, keeping him trapped on this planet and in this life for what could very well be forever.

Its particularly windy London morning today, gusts of it sending abandoned newspapers dancing across the pavement and making his coat billow even more dramatically than usual. It makes it hard to pay attention to his surroundings and most of the people he passes seem equally focused on getting to their destination in one piece. As a result he doesn't see the white hat coming until it lands at his feet. He grabs it before it can blow away again, dusting it off and looking around. Its fairly easy to pick out its owner hurrying over in the matching suit.

He grins and holds it out to him, then feels the expression falter as he catches sight of what is undoubtedly a stick of celery pinned to his lapel. Normal people don't wear vegetables. Its almost as ridiculous as the scarf. Jack swallows hard and makes himself look up to meet his gaze. It's the youngest face he's ever seen on him, and also the kindest. He's almost painfully different than the one Jack had traveled with, the one he thinks of as _his_ Doctor and it makes him desperately want to know this reincarnation, to find out what he was like before the Time War, before he lost everything, when he still looked like he could care this much.

"Thank you," The Doctor says with a smile, taking the hat and placing it back on his head. Jack manages a shaky nod and then turns and walks away, feeling like he has to escape before he starts talking and ruins everything. He can feel the puzzled look the Doctor gives him, but for whatever reason he lets him go and disappears once more.

 

Six

He has to wait much less this time, only two years in fact, and even then he almost misses his chance. He's about to climb on the Hub's invisible lift when he's knocked down as a blur of color goes running by. He sits up, getting a quick glimpse of a face almost overwhelmed by an outfit that seems to feature every color combination possible and a rainbow umbrella that clashes with all of them. Its almost painful to look at, undoubtedly the worse yet, but for some reason he decides its his favorite. He actually grins.

The Doctor doesn't even glance back to see if the man he had knocked down is alright which is probably for the best. He knows he's risking trouble with all these brief encounters but some days they're the only thing keeping him going. It's been a century now of dying and reviving and watching people he cares about stay dead, of never changing and having no where else to go or no goals beyond a vague, distant dream that one day it is going to be the right Doctor, one who will look right at him and know him instantly, who is going to fix him and make all this waiting worth it.

He wonders if that future version is still going to own that patchwork coat.

 

Seven

It's only ten years until the 21st century now. He's set that as some sort of deadline even though he's not exactly sure what is supposed to happen once it arrives. He hasn't dared to think that far ahead and as a result it's turned into some sort of magical even in his mind, as if the clock will strike twelve and suddenly the Doctor will appear out of thin air. He's spent most of his time lately focused intensely on Torchwood, afraid of slowing down long enough to stop and think, to realize how low the odds of a happy ending actually are. But on evenings like this, walking though the park with vague instructions to keep his eyes open for trouble it's impossible not to wonder what happens next, what he's supposed to do with himself afterwards. He's never thought past the vague idea of the Doctor fixing him to consider what he plans to do after that. He's lived through so much he doesn't know if he has any dreams or ambitions left. They've all been more or less fulfilled or forgotten and he doesn't like the giant expanse of nothing he worries his future holds. He never lets himself consider he might be stuck like this forever, that there's no going back from any of this and that one day he'll be left standing on the surface of this world watching the sun go out, still wearing that same damn coat.

He's so lost in though he doesn't bother to pay attention to where he is going. He passes a girl in a leather jacket and their shoulders bump. It's just close enough to hear her ask, "What are we even doing here? This place is boring."

"I suspect we'll encounter trouble soon enough, Ace," The man walking beside her replies. The name rings a bell in his mind from stories told around the TARDIS console and he turns around, watching them walk off into the darkness and wondering tiredly if it is really worth all this waiting, if a paradox can possibly be any worse than the way he lives right now anyway. He's so close.

 

Eight

There's blood everywhere, coating the floor and walls and tinging the water from the fountain red. His shirt is ruined from dragging the bodies of his teammates one by one to the morgue. He saved Alex for last, wanting so desperately to blame him for what he had done but he can't. He's too cold and wet and devastate and he doesn't think he's ever going to get all the blood out from under his nails. He's seen so much death over the past century, witnessed so many horrible things but somehow this is the worst. It's just so massive, so unexpected, so overwhelming that he just wants to give up, close his eyes and sleep for the next hundred years except he can't, because the 21st century is when everything changes.

He's slumped down against the wall, not sure if it's water or blood soaking through his shoes and trousers and beyond caring. The television is still on where Alex left it before gunning down his team and putting a bullet through his head, scenes of New Years celebrations and fireworks playing out across the screen. He hardly notices it. It's the only light in the otherwise darkened Hub. As long as he sits here without moving it might still be a dream. The darkness makes it unreal, and as long as he stays very still he won't have to get back up and fix all this, start over all alone. He should really mop up the blood.

The TV is still playing, some funny little fluff piece about an atomic clock that was supposed to start at midnight in San Francisco but broke. The report is full of bad puns about time as it pans across the scene outside the technical institute, where most people seemed too excited over the New Years festivities to particularly care about a faulty clock.

He starts to turn away but then there's a flash of blue in the corner of the screen and he throws himself towards it, feeling the knee of his trousers catch on a fallen chair and rip but hardly noticing he's in such a rush to get closer. The blue box isn't something anyone would notice unless they were looking for it, and they certainly would not have caught the man who has pauses with his hand on the latch to stare up at the stars. Even through the tiny image Jack can see the unbridled delight and wonder in those eyes as they look up a the night sky. He smiles, pushes open the door, and steps inside.

Jack's hand is pressed against the screen, leaving red smears across it that almost obscure the TARDIS as it vanishes. He realizes he's crying and he sits back on his heels, giving in to everything that had been threatening to overwhelm him since he had walked in hours earlier to find a pile of bodies. _I need you_ he wants to scream, choking on the words and desperate for the sound of otherworldly engines, sonic screwdrivers, anything, because he is just so tired of being left alone in the dark.

 

Nine

He knows his new team thinks he has gone crazy by putting the Hub into lockdown but there must be something in his face or his voice because for once they obey without question. Owen is, for once, being helpful and he has organized a card game to pass the time until they're allowed to leave. Its for the best, since Suzie and Tosh are visibly itching to know what is going on.

As for Jack, he has locked himself in his office, needing to be alone right now. He has cut all the CCTV feeds besides the ones in here and he sits in silent anticipation, watching as the TARDIS begins blazing with the energy of the Rift. He already knows how this disaster plays out but he watches on pins and needles anyway and suddenly there they are. He hardly gives his younger self a second glance, and even Rose warrants only a moment or two of his attention. He has gone to see her from a distance more than once as she grew up, playing the same dangerous game he always has with the Doctor.

Because of course that is who grabs and holds his attention, because finally after decades of glances and chance encounters its him, _his_ Doctor, all ears and nose and leather jacket and he's the most beautiful thing Jack has ever seen. Its not lust or attraction but something so far beyond that, such a profound, desperate longing he doesn't even know if there's a word for it. Its different than all the other times he has seen him, more real somehow, and even just the sight of him is enough to punch a hole of longing in his chest.

He watches the recording over and over long after the Rift is closed and the Hub is empty once more.

 

Ten

Just because he has never liked Torchwood London doesn't make it any easier to walk through its now charred walls, stepping over bodies and silently taking in the destruction. His team is already beginning to dismantle the most dangerous tech and he takes a moment to step into Yvonne Hart's office and stare around him at the wreckage. They had never really cared for each other, and he had not liked what Torchwood had become under her, but the woman had been a good leader, he'd give her that. She hadn't deserved this.

Somehow her computer has survived the worst of the chaos and he glances at it absently before looking back. The Doctor's file is pulled up, sharing the screen with a still from a security camera, one of a tall, gangly man with old fashioned 3D glasses perched on the end of his nose and a sonic screwdriver sticking out of his pocket.

 

Eleven

He's empty, past feeling anything, past caring what planet this is or what he's drinking. The only thing he is aware of is time, mentally counting each second that has passed since he saved the world at the cost of everyone he loved. Its been three days, seven hours, twenty three minutes and six…seven…eight seconds and every one of them has hurt.

"You always take me to the nicest places, sweetie." The voice is too loud, too cheerful, too teasing as the pair walks in the door and he instantly hates them for having anything to be happy about. He glances up, past the bow tie to the face and for a second their eyes lock and he knows exactly who he's looking at and he does nothing to hide the anger in his eyes, the silent accusation that if there is anyone who could have fixed things, could have saved Ianto, saved Stephen, its the Doctor. He could have done it and he hadn't, and no matter how many more centuries pass, no matter how many more adventures and laughs they have there is always going to be a part of Jack that hates him for that and right now, in this perfect, crystal clear moment they both know it.

He stands up abruptly, furious to see this man for the first time in his entire life as he storms out before he can say anything to fix that. For once he does not particularly feel like waiting for him.


End file.
